


Bravo

by lousywithstature



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: M/M, really lame thing i decided to make
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-25 23:06:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7550734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lousywithstature/pseuds/lousywithstature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and David talk in Medda's theatre.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bravo

**Author's Note:**

> This took several rewrites, but this is hopefully somewhat okay. Also, title is (very) lame, but it's the best that I have. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

It's getting dark, and Medda's performance is drawing to a close. Jack vaguely thinks about getting to the Lodging House before the doors are locked, but sitting on a catwalk with David is comfier than the idea of his bed (and honestly, being with David is more comfortable than the idea of doing anything else, but Jack wouldn't admit that out loud).

"I should be heading home," David comments. He's clenching the railings so hard that his knuckles are white, and Jack is sure that they're numb. There's a small moment of silence between them, and then David adds, " _should_. But I won't."

"Enjoyin' yourself too much?" He asks. David shrugs. He doesn't even look at Medda, and Jack guesses that it's because he's bad with heights. Instead, he's looking at the railings so intently it's almost as if he's expecting them to begin to tap dance. Jack drapes an easy arm around his shoulders like he was born to do this. "We'll head home after this performance."

"Okay," David says. Jack takes a moment to study him because he's seen this performance several times (or so he tells himself). He peers at his square jaw, at the curve of his back, at his too bright blue eyes. If Jack were a girl, he would tell David that he's handsome (and even though he isn't a girl, he still wants to tell David that he's handsome). "Jack, why're you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" Jack stalls, rubbing his goose-bumped skin, chilled from the crisp autumn air.

"Like..." The crowd below applauds, a few hollering at the top of their lungs and some whistling. David waits until there is a lull in the sound. "Like I've murdered somebody but you wanted them dead, but nobody's supposed to know that."

Jack huffs out a laugh and sits back to look up at the ceiling, his heart drumming to a rhythm he still doesn't understand. "Wanna explain?"

"You look at me like..." David pauses and grips the railings even harder while he stares at the ground. Jack is (allowing himself the pleasure of) getting distracted by David's old white shirt; the fabric is pulled taut against his chest. His past girlfriends would say that he's well built and maybe even go out with him (although Jack would like to do that too, but the _law_ ). "Like nobody or nothing's supposed to see except for the air around you."

He turns to look at Jack, who is tapping his fingers on the surface of the catwalk. "Um," he falters, losing his train of thought because David is pulling at his shirt sleeve.

"Jack," David says quietly, as if he thinks that if he spoke any louder, the whole world would hear. "Jack, uh, do you maybe want to...God, this will sound weird, I'm sorry — do you maybe want to, um, kiss?"

"Yeah," Jack says, keeping his eyes trained on David's eyes. "Yeah, I want that." (He's been wanting that for more than a few months now)

And then David practically slams his face against his with the skill of an inexperienced kisser. But it's fine, because Jack has been thinking about this far too many times, so he kisses back like there's no tomorrow, like they only have a few seconds to make this matter. The sounds below — the shuffles, the sniffles, the coughs, the occasional shout — and the world around them steadily drains away into nothingness. He moves his arm from his shoulders down to David's waist and David is clenching the cloth on Jack's back so hard that he's sure to leave wrinkles.

Below them, Medda's audience begins to applaud.


End file.
